


At Home

by theladyofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyofmisthaven/pseuds/theladyofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark One curse is gone. Storybrooke inhabitants try to lead a normal life and heal. But what does it mean to feel at home? CS future fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catsophia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsophia/gifts).



> My dear Cat. I feel so lucky I found you in the sea of our fellow CSers. It’s always a delight to know you can talk to one of your fellow- country(wo)man. So in celebration of your birthday I wrote this little fic. Happy Birthday Cat-Sophia!!! A big thank you to captain-k-jones and HookedonCS for looking over this.

If someone asked him when the whole ordeal had started, he wouldn’t be able to provide them with an answer. All that he knew was one day when he came back home, he could literally smell something was different than usual.

 

It was already dark outside, which wasn’t odd, providing that winter was knocking on Storybrooke residents door. Novembers in Maine tend to be rather frosty, so the thought of warm cocoa with whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon made him run the up the front stairs a little faster than usual. Yes, his Swan had finally converted him to drinking the bloody beverage and, even though he would never admit it to her, he’d become addicted to it.

 

Minding his own business, he quickly locked the front door behind him in hopes of not letting the chilly wind into the house. He was just throwing his leather jacket on the antique hanger by the entrance when his senses were attacked by an intriguing but foreign smell coming from the kitchen. Letting his nose guide him, Killian followed the sweet and yet spicy aroma, trying to determine its origin. Granny’s take out, as much as he loved the widow’s cooking, did not smell so heavenly, nor did Lady Snow’s. That meant someone else was responsible for the growling sounds his stomach made. Turning the corner, he stopped dead in his steps to the sight unfolding before his  tired eyes. He almost thought he was hallucinating and tried to pinch  himself.

 

The plain oak table was covered with crisps white cloth, fancy square shaped table setting shined in the bright light of the antique lamp they’d bought through that bloody magic box. Silverware sat in a perfect line with plates and elegantly folded napkins. A simple soup tureen stood in the middle with the porcelain ladle already in it and the lid leaning against it’s ceramic side. The steam rose from the dish creating a misty, always moving pattern.

 

Killian sniffed the air. Yes, the heavenly aroma was most definitely coming from there. Now, if he only could…

 

“Didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

 

He turned his head rapidly to his right. Emma stood next to the chair, her hands full of another bowl. She smiled at him, biting her bottom lip, but her eyes bore the look of the Lost Girl. The one of fear. It didn’t appear as often as it used to. Only when she was stressed about something and Killian made it his life goal to banish that fear from her eyes.

 

Trying to ease her discomfort, he smiled cheekily at her. In two long strides, he was close enough to envelope her in his arms and plant a kiss on her hair. She leaned into him as he continued tracing the line of her jaw with his lips,

 

“Hello to you too, love.” He murmured against her neck. Her slim hand hit him playfully on the chest. He didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling.

 

“Come on pirate. Time to eat.” He let go of her with reluctance, moving to the other side of the table.

 

Killian sat as his usual spot watching her closely as she put the contents of the bowls she held on his plate. _Dumplings._ His mind helped him. They looked funny, kind of like the ravioli they sometimes ordered at their favorite Italian restaurant. Except they were more circular in shape and the only two corners they had were joined together in the middle. He poked one of them with his fork.

 

“They are called ‘ _ushka_ ’.” Emma explained with a smile. “You are supposed to eat them with the soup.” She pointed at the tureen with the spoon she held in her hand.

 

He must have had a really confused expression, because she put down the dish she was holding and poured a ladle of clear wine-colored liquid to this plate. The sweet and spicy scent attacked his senses once more. It was wonderfully intense and Killian tried to dissect specific smells. He recognized garlic, but otherwise he failed miserably at naming the soup ingredients.

 

Loud thuds could be heard coming from the hallway. An undeniable sign that Henry was coming down the stairs, apparently lead to the kitchen by the same aroma that had bewitched Killian. He threw one look at the steaming liquid Emma was pouring on his plate, as he sat down.

 

“ _‘Borsch’_! Cool! You haven't’ made it since New York.” The lad shoot before ‘ _digging in’_ as Emma called it.

 

His Swan smiled at her boy, the lost look slowly fading. She sat across from him, throwing him a shy look before focusing on her _‘borsch’_. Deciding, there was not much he could do at the moment, Killian  gathered the spoon of soup.

 

A pleasant burn filled his mouth. The flavor mix was delicious. Sweet, sour, and hot at the same time. He tasted a hint of garlic, confirming this earlier guess and some sort of herbs, he definitely had never tried before. The burn feeling on his tongue was caused by, as Henry informed him later, a secret ingredient- a  forest mushroom brew.

 

The next spoon he took contained not only ‘ _borsch_ ’ but also the mysterious _‘ushka_ ’. The pastry was thin and delicate while the stuffing spicy and burning once again. The dumplings and soup fitted together brilliantly.

 

The second plate was even more interesting due to the presence of  a fresh cucumber salad. The vegetable, cut in thin slices, was covered with sour cream. It should be plain and boring, but to Killian’s surprise it was fresh and delicate. A perfect addition to mashed potatoes with butter and even that was different from what he had tasted in this world. Its consistency was firmer, less mushed. The butter gave them a richer, warmer flavor. To finish the second plate, his Swan prepared something the lad called a pork breaded cutlet. The meat was thin as shoe sole and Killian expected it to be hard to chew. That’s what he remembered about pork meat from Enchanted Forest. How wrong he was. The cutlet literally melted in his mouth. The combination of bread crumbs, eggs, salt, and pepper had softened the meat and made it almost divine.

 

The dinner was bloody fantastic and he did not remember the last time he felt so sated. He let out a satisfied sigh and next thing he knew Emma was smiling at him happily, the Lost Girl in her eyes completely gone.

 

From that point it had become a tradition of sorts. Every time Emma had a day off and Killian was busy, she would cook a two course dinner, surprising him with flavors and savors he never thought existed.

 

Cabbage rolls. Two kinds of them. One filled with buckwheat and champignon mushrooms, braised in the oven, served with a creamy tomato sauce. The sour taste of the sauce added flavor and moist to the stuffing, mixing brilliantly with its salty taste. The other with rice and mincemeat. He liked the second one with the other sauce. Spicy champignon mushroom and sour cream one. The paper in it burned his tongue and  he learned he loved that feeling.

 

Dumplings, that Emma lovingly called _‘pierogies’._ Their pastry was exactly the same as in ‘ _ushka’_ but Killian had never thought they could have so many fillings. Those with white cheese were served on sweet as were the fruit-filled. He especially loved the blueberry stuffing(where did Swan get them this close to winter, he would never know) with sweet cream but there were the ones filled with mushroom and sauerkraut, or with potato and savory white cheese filling adorably called _russian_ (not that he had any idea what that meant). It was during his flavor adventures with _‘pierogies_ ’, Emma had learned about his love for sauerkraut.

 

He openly admitted it reminded him of his time in the navy. The days he’d spend months on the sea and the cooked sauerkraut was served on daily basis to prevent the sailors from getting scurvy. It was a bittersweet memory for him, of different times, different people, of home.

 

Emma seemed to take it into her heart because sauerkraut became almost permanently present in their menu. As a side dish braised with mushrooms or peas, melting in his mouth like butter. As a soup with chopped meat ( _‘kielbasa’_ or something) and sometimes potatoes. In croquettes,  pancakes rolls, as a filing, with the ever present mushrooms or meat. He loved them with their crispy bread crumbs coating and a cup of aromatic _‘borsch’._ Warming him wonderfully after a long cold day out.

 

He never complained, even though he knew there was more to it than just cooking and sometimes having ‘ _pierogies_ ’ twice a week was a bit to much. It seemed that making these dinners made his Swan happy and chased her fears away, at least for a while, so he let things be. Unfortunately, with Emma having two or three days off in a week, soon his belt became too tight and he had to hook up it in a further hole.

 

About two months later (villains seemed to forget Storybrooke existed),  he finally got the chance to get home earlier with the best intention to surprise his lady. Jumping up the porch stairs,  he almost flew through the entrance of their house. His legs automatically led him to the kitchen, bottle of wine in his hand. Just like two months earlier, he stopped dead in his tracks.

 

The kitchen table was covered in flour. So was the floor and cupboards. The water on the cooker was boiling, filling the kitchen with too much steam. Emma sat on the floor next to the stove, covered with white powder from head to toes, hugging her knees the her chest. Her golden hair was a mess, favorite gray sweater stained on the sleeve with something greasy and her eyes...her brilliantly gorgeous green eyes were red, full of unshed tears.

 

Absentmindedly putting the wine bottle on the table, Killian crouched next to his love. He looked at her with worry.

 

“Love,” he whispered, brushing a tear of her cheek. He met her glossy eyes with a soft smile. “If you wanted to cover our kitchen with snow, all you had to do is open the window. Well that or contact Elsa.”

 

She snorted and he knew she was temporarily better. Killian sat down next to Emma, leaning over the stove.

 

“You never told me where you had learned to cook like that.” She avoided his eyes and he knew  right away it was a painful subject for her. So he sat with there, there on the kitchen floor, waiting, always waiting for her to make a move. Finally she did.

 

“When I got out of jail all I had were clothes on my back and my bag. I was lonely and scared, but somehow I still hoped he would be waiting for me.” She paused, swallowing hard and he felt an urge to pull her in his arms but he stopped himself, knowing that this time, she has to get it out.

 

“Neal...” Her smile was sad. “He and I had an agreement. We wanted to start a new life in Tallahassee. I almost let go of that thought in jail, but he sent me the keys to the bug and I let myself to hope again.” She sighed and he took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “I struggled to get there as fast as I could, taking lousy jobs to make money for gas and food. I didn’t think about what I would do to find him I just knew I had to be there. When I had finally managed to get there, I tried to look for a stable job but it was not easy. I didn’t even finish high school. I tried to do that in jail but I didn’t have many credits to start with. I was pregnant and depressed.” He intertwined his fingers with hers, squeezing her hand a little harder. His heart hurt for her. He wanted to take away her pain, even though he knew it was impossible.  After a while, she squeezed his hand back.

 

”Let’s just say getting a job was not easy. So one day I sat in a booth of a small diner I’d come to for a week when this old lady came to me. She cooked there and noticed me in my miserable state.” A bitter smile graced her lips and Killian ran his thumb over her knuckles, trying to soothe her. “Her name was Maria. She was a widow living on her own, her children scattered around the states  and she was lonely. So she took pity on this little lost girl and took me in.” She laughed at that, shooting him a wry smile. “I tried to not let her do that.” He smiled at that, too. ”But she was very persistent and I wanted to get my life in order, while waiting…” The sorrow was back in her voice. “She helped me to find a job as a waitress in the same dinner she worked in, convinced me to finish school and spoiled me by cooking for me. She was Polish, so our dinners were as Polish as she could make them.” Emma's gaze wandered the messy kitchen. A comfortable silence filled the room.

 

“She taught me a lot during that two years and I wanted to learn. I wanted to make a real home for Neal, because we both missed it.” His thumb continued to cares her knuckles. “I started to lose hope again and when I noticed Maria cared for me more and more every day I did what I was best at and ran.” Her sad eyes looked into his. “I never cooked after that. Not until the lost year in New York.”

 

Killian swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask the next question.

 

“Why did you return to it now?” His voice was a mere whisper.

 

“I heard what you said to my mother at a family dinner one night. About how dinners like this remind you of home.” His heart started to beat as if he had run a marathon. She lifted her golden head to look at him, the little lost girl back in her eyes. “I wanted you to feel at home here.”

 

The Dark One curse wounded them pretty badly. He struggled with his dark side and she...Well she suffered from the repercussions of her deeds after they finally vanquished the darkness. It pained him that it made her so unsure, to think she is unworthy once again. Unworthy of his love, of his forgiveness. He knew, because he had been there himself.

 

Killian released her hand to put a strand of golden hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his touch, willingly searching his comfort. He pulled her close to him, his hook on the small of her back.

 

“Oh, Emma” With eyes half closed, his forehead touched hers. “I don’t need you to cook for me to feel at home.” Her eyelids flutter to meet his gaze. ”I’ll feel at home in whatever place the fates lead me to as long as I have you by my side. My sweet beautiful darling...” His thumb caressed her cheek again whipping a lone tear falling down slowly. “...  you are my home.”

 

His lips met hers in a slow kiss, igniting his blood, making him want more. Tilting his head he deepened the kiss, his tongue pleading for entrance. His hand found itself in her hair as her mouth opened beneath his. She tasted of potatoes and savory white cheese with a bit of pepper, and fried onions. Like ‘russian pierogis’ filling. All that was missing was the pastry, some melted butter, and sour cream. She tasted divine.

 

After what seemed quite a long time, Killian broke the kiss reluctantly only to brush his lips against hers a mere seconds later. His Swan smiled at him, a happy smile. One filled with love and adoration. One that chased the shadows away. One  that reached her lovely eyes. He smiled back at her, feeling lighter somehow. He lived to see her happy.

 

Emma caught his hand in hers and pulled him off the floor. He put an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. She leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder. They once again looked at the flour covered kitchen. Thinking about the amount of cleaning before them, he sighed.

 

“I am not a big fan of cleaning after your culinary adventures, love.” She shot him a pointed look. ”Although, I wouldn’t mind if you decided to make me some ‘pierogis’ from time to time.” He added in a whisper.

 

Her happy laughter filled the house.

 

**The End**


End file.
